Capitol Threat

19

Loving hated driving in Washington, D.C. It seemed there was no good time, just one endless rush hour. Traffic was never like this in the small Oklahoma town where he grew up. Even in Tulsa it was never like this, not even on the Friday afternoon before Christmas vacation. He was almost creamed by a semi as he tried to merge onto Interstate 66. He took the Key Bridge exit and traveled straight across the Potomac, then veered right onto “M” Street. Eventually he fought his way to Thirty-first, a main drag through one of the most upscale parts of Georgetown. Personally, he preferred the bars and honky-tonks of rural Oklahoma to the endless shopping emporia surrounding “M” and Wisconsin. Did everyone in this town own a cell phone? Were they permanently attached to their ears? Might as well dangle them from the end of a pierced earring.

When he was in the vicinity of his destination, Loving parked his minivan and crawled into the back. Since Ben had decided they were relocating to D.C., at least until his senatorial term expired, Loving had taken the time to drive his official P.I. van up from Oklahoma so he could use it when needed. The tinted windows were completely opaque; he could see out, but didn’t want anyone seeing in. A dark sheet hung between the front seats and where the rear seats used to be; he’d removed them to create a nest and to make more room for his surveillance equipment.

He opened the cabinet bolted to the side wall of the van. This was his private stash: digital camera, pencil-thin flashlight, twenty-power binoculars, bottled water, peanut butter sandwiches, and a lifetime supply of beef jerky. He also had a fan he used to keep cool during stakeouts. He wasn’t sure he needed any of this equipment at the moment, but he ate a sandwich, just so the trip wouldn’t be wasted. Then he slid outside the van and disappeared into a nearby alley.

He had become all too familiar with the network of alleys that seemed to unite most of commercial Georgetown; they were useful, but never ceased to send a chill or two up his spine when he entered. They were dark and oppressive, even in the daytime, and it would be all too easy to get trapped in them—as he had learned a few days before when he was fleeing from Leon and Pretty Boy.

He walked through the alley until he emerged at the opposite end and his ultimate destination, the address Leon had given him.

Loving pressed himself against the stone wall of the alleyway, carefully inching forward in tiny increments toward the street. Perhaps he was being excessively cautious. On the other hand, after two killers have tried their darnedest to blow you away, then one of them sits in a coffee bar and suggests there’s probably still someone gunning for you, maybe there’s no such thing as excessively cautious. The stinging sensation in his leg where the bullet creased it reminded him that wariness might be prudent.

He’d feel better about this if it were nighttime. Skulking about in the shadows was his specialty; he’d had a lot of practice. But Leon had made it clear that if Loving wanted to bump into this “Trudy,” four in the afternoon would be the optimum time. Broad daylight. Heavy Georgetown traffic. A line of high rises that provided a never-ending succession of potential snipers’ nests.

The street was smoggy to the point of choking with a sheet of cars whizzing by, not to mention the buses announcing their passage with hydraulic brake squeals and noxious fumes. How many different bus lines did this town have, anyway? Judging from the traffic, he put the number at somewhere around a hundred billion. A wonder there was anyone left to drive a car.

Loving plunged across the street, weaving a serpentine pattern through traffic, dodging cars and, at least in his mind, imaginary Leons who might be gunning for him. He made it to the opposite side and raced to the front door of the office building.

Except when he arrived, he realized it wasn’t an office building. Big enough to be one, but it wasn’t. Trinity Baptist Church of Georgetown, read the lettering on the door.

Loving did a double-take. This place looked nothing like a church, at least not from the outside. It was a five-story brownstone with barely any windows, much less any made of stained glass. He supposed space downtown was at a premium, and even churchgoers had to make do with what they could find. Inside, he saw more signs of churchliness, even though it wasn’t Sunday. Religious posters—HAVE YOU BEEN WASHED IN THE BLOOD?—and tract displays hung over the functional, if unexciting, airport-beige carpeting. He spotted two large double doors and peeked inside. He found a cavernous room larger than most auditoriums, with an immensely high ceiling; he speculated that it probably reached to the top of the building. The altar at the front was decorated with flowers and a podium and flanked on either side with huge movie display screens. High-tech preaching, from the looks of things. A lot bigger than anything they’d had back in Loving’s hometown.

Loving would have loved to stop and gawk, but he recalled that Leon told him that Trudy wouldn’t be found in the business operation proper—she’d be in the basement. That was starting to make a lot of sense to him. What better front for a criminal operation than a church? Or maybe the church was legitimate, but rented its basement to raise extra cash. Either way, it was likely to escape the scrutiny of law enforcement eyes. Very clever, in a satanic sort of way.

Keeping careful watch to make sure no one spotted him, Loving began searching for the way to the basement. He moved sideways down the main corridor, keeping his face to the wall as if he were intensely scrutinizing something, while searching for a stairway that led downward. He spotted a heavy reinforced door with a black nameplate that looked as if it might fit the bill. Just before he reached it, however, two women emerged from opposite ends of the adjoining hallway.

Loving rapidly turned away from them.

“Well, hello, girlfriend!” one of the women said.

“Back at ya, sweetheart!”

Loving stood in front of a glass window—the display case for an immense library, as it turned out—and he could see the two women reflected in the glass. They were hugging. Both appeared thirtyish. One was blond and petite, while the other was a larger, but still very attractive, brunette. The brunette was wearing a tight-fitting dress and had a pink boa wrapped around her neck—not exactly standard church garb.

“You understand what’s going down today?” the brunette said in hushed tones.

“Sure do. I think Michael has really been sweating,” the blond replied.

“I know I would be. Who would’ve ever imagined—”

“I know, I know. It’s unbelievable.”

Loving strained to pick up their words. Were they talking about the murder of the mystery woman at the Roush press conference?

“I’m still not sure about…you know,” the brunette said.

“Oh, I do, I do. But at some point…maybe change is good.”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s time to take…a new position.”

“Just so Michael stays calm. Just so everyone stays calm. That’s the main thing.”

“Agreed. Got to keep our heads together.”

“Absolutely, honey. I better get downstairs.”

“Understood. But I’m going to see you tonight, right?”

“Count on it, Trudy.”

Loving’s neck stiffened. It was her!

Should he confront her now, or wait until she was alone? Loving wasn’t sure which approach would be best, and while he was deliberating, the two women slipped down the stairs.

He waited a respectful few seconds so it wouldn’t be obvious he was trailing them. Maybe his caution wasn’t necessary—the women didn’t exactly look like contract killers—but at this point, Loving didn’t feel it was possible to be too careful. The door squeaked as if it hadn’t been oiled since the Rock of Ages was formed, and the steps weren’t much better. Loving did his best to enter stealth mode, but the environment made it challenging. By the time he reached the foot of the stairs and turned left, the women had disappeared.

No matter. There were only four doors off the passageway. Two of them were dark, not that that necessarily ruled out the possibility of a clandestine meeting. He crept close to the first and cupped his ear to the window.

Nothing. Silly to think there would be anything. He started toward the next door, relaxing a bit—and then he remembered what Leon had told him. Danger may lurk in the most unexpected places.

He took a deep breath, steadied his nerves, and moved on. Still nothing.

The third door was slightly ajar. Though the room was dark, Loving was able to ascertain that there was no one inside. And that left the last door on the left…

As he crept closer, he could hear talking. No, as he continued to approach, he realized it was only one voice, one voice speaking in a steady tone, almost a monotone. No, several voices, but all speaking in unison—that was it. He couldn’t make out the words, but something about the voices gave him the creeps.

He moved in even closer, then crouched beneath the window in the door so he couldn’t be seen. There was movement inside, and some music playing softly in the background. Someone’s boom box? Maybe playing to drown out the voices? Something to prevent electronic eavesdropping?

Slowly, gently, he tried the doorknob. Locked.

Still crouched, he examined the lock. Just a simple push-button number in a flimsy wooden frame. He knew he could break it. But not without being noticed.

He heard more movement inside, followed by the sound of a door opening. Was there another entrance? Was it possible Trudy was escaping through a rear exit?

There was no more time to waste. He took off his T-shirt, wrapped it around his hand, then thrust it through the glass. The window shattered, sending glass flying. Moving as quickly as possible, he turned the knob to release the lock, then rushed through the door.

Inside, he found three rows of people sitting on the floor. Little people. Children. Five and younger. All of them sitting with their thumbs and forefingers touching, palms turned upward, in the lotus position, staring at the man who just broke into the room.

“Ommm…”